


Shattered Time

by infectedscrew



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Injury, Scar Worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-07 02:04:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6780940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infectedscrew/pseuds/infectedscrew
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What Batman doesn't notice won't kill him, but it just might take Red Robin out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

“Batman! Look out!”

Robin shouted from the cat walk above the ware house floor. He had one gauntlet clenched around a man’s throat and a foot shoved into the stomach of another.

Even from this distance Red Robin could see barely restrained fear etched into the young man’s face. He paused, mid swing to look toward the infamous knight. The man who had been running at him, found his nose unfortunately caught by the butt end of a staff.

“Batman!” Red Robin yelled, when his gaze landed on what made Robin suddenly so afraid. He hoped that between his and Robin’s calls, the man would hear.

No such luck.

Batman was caught in the fray with Two Face. A life time of anger, rivalry and disdain pooled into this singular moment. The scarred man’s insane laughter echoed through the barely there roof tops, taunting Batman back to a childhood of pain. There was nothing that could pull Batman out of this. This was a fight he had to win. Failure was not an option for Gotham or for himself. Although, he hadn’t sunk low enough to revenge; even if he could still feel the bite of the baseball bat against his cheek.

Only death would stop him from ending this battle.

And death was exactly what Robin and Red Robin saw coming toward Batman at a speed impossible to stop. A man, who wove apart from the fighting groups, was making his way toward Batman. An impossibly large weapon balanced on his arm, hand wrapped around the trigger and head tilted for the perfect aim.

Red Robin knew that pose. He seen it multiple times when he came against the League of Assassin’s. Men and women who wanted to make a kill more thrilling at close range. After all, what was so exciting about shooting someone through a window fifty yards away, when it could be done point blank?

Red Robin’s heart thudded in his chest, worry flooding his system. Batman couldn’t fall. More importantly, the man behind the cowl couldn’t fall. He didn’t think he could survive it. Swallowing his nerves, he found his one opportunity and took it. He had to, for the sake of that man, he had to take this moment.

“Please,” he whispered, the single word that launched him over the colliding heads. His staff caught the assassin’s gun jerking it down.

“Fuck!” The man grunted, his wild gaze landing on Red Robin. He snarled, revealing putrid, decaying teeth. “You’re in my way, kid!” His hand tightened and…

An explosion shattered the air between them. Red Robin felt something slam into his stomach but couldn’t register it. All he knew was that the assassin was being hurled away from him and his staff was the one doing the throwing. His body shrieked at him but he didn’t have time to listen. That man had to be removed if only to save the man behind the cowl.

The assassin’s body slammed into a support, shattering the wood. He slumped to the floor, promising not to get back up for awhile.

Before Red Robin could have a moment to figure out why his body was getting so heavy, another thug rammed into his shoulders. A sharp gasp ripped over his throat and his body hit the floor. Pain, the sharp shards of nerves, rocketed up his body setting very last muscle on fire. Black clouded his vision and he didn’t really remember the ware house being this dark before. He’d think on it later, when his head didn’t hurt so much.

Two face dropped and Batman stood over his form, mouth a grim line. No matter how strong the temptation, he just couldn’t kill him. With a harsh sigh, he whirled on the spot. Not a single thug was left standing. The ones that groaned and shifted on the floor were no threat and would be picked up by the police soon enough. His eyes narrowed behind the cowl.

“Robin!” He called. Hearing a click from above, he looked up to see Robin zip-tying a man to the railing of the cat walk. At any other time, he would have snort and made a snappy comment. This time, however, deep seated anger whirled at the top of his mind.

Robin glanced over the edge of the cat walk. He was frowning, it was an even tighter expression than normal. “Where’s Red Robin?” He demanded.

Batman stilled, he hadn’t seen Red Robin since he’d turned around. He glanced around but before he could continue his search, gurgling laughter met his ears.

“The little bird is gone, Bats,” the assassin chortled from his position on the floor. “I got rid of him.” He laughed again, blood staining his mouth and chin. “A blow like that to the stomach? There is no return!”

“What are you saying old man?” Robin snapped from above.

The answer was a hand pointing. Three sets of eyes turn to look. Batman’s throat tightened, air suddenly seeming an impossible thing. The once dark, dirt encrusted floor was turning a brilliant red. All of that blood oozed out an unmoving form.

“Oh God…” Batman breathed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim wakes up to a world of hurt.

Waking up in pain is one of the worst feelings. Nightmares, alarm clocks, shrieking mothers hand nothing on pain. It seeped into every muscle and nerve ending, biting and gnawing like demons. Every shred of existence threatened to unravel if only to ease the harsh realities. That was exactly how Timothy Drake felt on his way back to the real world.

He groaned deeply, one hand dropping to his stomach, the source of his pain.

“Don’t press too harshly, Master Tim.” Alfred Pennyworth smiled softly at him, one elderly hand moving to fix the blankets covering Tim’s stomach.

“Alfred?” He said, frowning at how strained his own voice sounded. “What happened?”

“You decided to play hero and got your stomach blown out,” Damian Wayne drawled from somewhere to Tim’s left. He had been leaning on the consoles, waiting for Alfred to finish the check up so he could get lunch. His eyes were narrowed and he looked, clearly, very unhappy.

“Young Master…” Alfred warned. He glanced at Tim. “How do you feel?” He asked.

Tim looked away from Damian, to consider Alfred. “I hurt a lot.”

“As you should,” Damian commented. “As I stated, your midsection was almost completely destroyed. It’s a wonder you even managed to survive. I certainly didn’t expect it.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “You know, Damian, you keep complaining and yet you’re still here. Is this your way of worrying about me?”

Damian snorted. “You only wish that you were granted the honor of my interest.” He looked away, glowering. “I suppose, I’ll let Grayson know you’re awake. He’s been pathetically moping for the better part of this week.”

“Week?!” Tim’s eyes widened and his eyes shot back to Alfred, who nodded solemnly. “Alfred, why did you let me sleep for a week?”

“Master Tim, your body couldn’t have handled any less rest,” the elderly man explained. “Trust me on this, Dr. Leslie spent sixteen hours working on you, you needed the sleep.”

Tim slumped back against the pillows he hadn’t realized he’d risen from. His hand tightened over the blanket. With a sharp tug, he pulled it away. He had to know what his stomach look like now. Vanity was not his main concern but somehow, the image of a gnarled tangle of skin for his midsection was not a pleasant one.

“Master Timothy, please, do not move so much,” Alfred complained, his hand dropping to Tim’s wrist.

“I have to see Alfred,” he returned. His free hand danced over the bandages, easily peeling them away.

Layer by layer, harsh irritated skin was revealed. The metal stitches caught the light, glinting angrily that they had to be disturbed. A long, thick winding gash wound it’s way across Tim’s abdomen. It looked like it had been pulled together by someone who only vaguely knew what human anatomy was. But that couldn’t be right, Dr. Leslie was a genius, a medical miracle worker. It meant she hadn’t had much to work with.

“Master Timothy…” Alfred’s hand moved to his shoulder, squeezing softly. He pulled back when Tim’s body shook.

Tim let out a strange sound. “My… My stomach,” he mumbled. “It’s…” His face tightened, fingers curling around the bandages, threatening to tear them. Whatever he had expected, it really wasn’t that. His midsection looked like it had gone through a war without him.

“Tim..?”

Tim jerked and looked over. Dick Grayson was standing just off of the platform, almost hesitant to step onto it. One hand rested on the railing, like he was using it to tether himself to the world. The other was lifted toward Tim.

“Tim!” Dick repeated a smile flying over his features. He let go of the railing and shot toward the bed. “Oh God! Tim, you’re awake!” He flung his arms around Tim’s neck, drawing the smaller male to his chest. Just slightly, he pulled back to look at Tim’s face. “How are you?”

Tim stared at him. “I’m… Fine,” he answered, unable to look at Dick’s face.

Dick frowned, his gaze dropping down to Tim’s hand. He jerked slightly. “Oh…” He whispered, his hand reaching over to curl over Tim’s. He glanced at Alfred, who had moved forward to pull the bandages out of Tim’s hand and carefully re-wrap them. Gently, Dick lifted the blanket back over Tim’s body and nodded to Alfred, who left them to their pseudo peace.

“Tim, I am so sorry,” he whispered, embracing him again. “If I had been paying attention. I…” He almost growled into Tim’s hair, his arms tightening.

Tim was silent for a long moment. “I don’t blame you,” he said finally.

Any other statement couldn’t have caused Dick nearly as much pain. How could he not be blamed? His inability to focus nearly cost Tim his life. Despite that, Tim didn’t hate him for it? It was the worst. Not even the worst monster in Arkham was as terrible as Dick was right at that moment. He would never forgive himself for what happened to Tim. And he was, absolutely, going to do his damnedest to make him the happiest man this side of the Sun.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's partially vanity and partially failure.

It took three days to convince Alfred to let Tim get off of the bed. The elderly Brit seemed to think that Tim would shatter into a million pieces if his feet so much as grazed the floor. Of course, his argument was helped greatly by the fact that every time Tim’s bandages were changed, the young man would shake himself into a frenzy. In the end, however, he conceded and helped move Tim out of the Cave and into the Manor itself.

“I can move myself,” Tim grumbled, voice hoarse with irritation. He plucked absently at Dick’s hand wrapped around his waist. Help in any form was a grievance, especially when the last thing he wanted was to be touched. A glare was directed towards his bare feet.

Dick glanced at him, a war in his mind as he decided between refusing Tim or giving him what he wanted.. “Alright, try,” he finally decided. Seconds later, he pulled away.

For a moment Tim was left standing on his own. He shot a look at Dick before lifting his leg and taking the next step. Almost as soon as his skin touched cold stone, pain shot across his stomach and he stumbled. His hand shot out and Dick caught it.

“Still think you can do it?” Dick whispered, swinging Tim around into his chest and holding him tightly.

Tim’s cheeks flushed in anger and embarrassment. “Just get me upstairs, Dick,” he mumbled.

The next two days were passed in awkward silence. Since Tim had been moved back into his old room, he had refused to let people in. His door had remained firmly closed only opening the slightest bit for Alfred to pass meals through, but even those came back out barely touched.

“Master Richard,” Alfred sighed while cleaning the dishes one night. “I do believe Master Tim is rather hung up on his self image.”

Dick looked up from the police reports he had been reading. “What do you mean?”

“Well, that is, possibly one of the worst scars his body has gotten,” he explained, setting a dish into the soapy water.

A frown pulled over Dick’s features. “We’ve all got scars. Should it matter?”

The butler paused a moment before shifting to look at Dick. “You have seen it, Master Richard. That is more than just a normal scar. I am loath to admit it, but… It is disastrous looking.”

“Plus it’s in a place that gets exposed every summer,” Damian commented from Dick’s left. He had been politely reading, pretending not to show interest. He looked up sheepishly when he felt Alfred and Dick look at him. “Not to sound vain, but I would be bothered if something that serious marred my skin.”

Dick chewed at his lower lip. “Do you really think that’s what is bothering him?” He asked, Alfred, watching the man lift another plate to scrub.

Alfred shrugged. “It is possible. After all, he was born into a world of wealthy images. Even if his life took drastic changes, I’m sure he’s still has a bit of white collar in him.”

Silence fell over the group. Dick glanced at Damian, who arched an eyebrow and returned to his book. He glanced at Alfred, whose gaze remained on the dishes, lost in the haze of memories. With a sharp huff, Dick shoved himself out of his seat and out of the kitchen.

For some reason, he just couldn’t understand why Tim would be so hung up about this. It was just a scar. Another memento in the Mission. They all knew when they got into the business that it was with serious risk. Besides, Dick thought scars were a sign of strength, something to be admired and worshipped. Secretly, he found them rather appealing, almost arousing.

“Tim?” He called softly through the door. “Tim, come on, open up.” He knocked on the door when he didn’t get an answer. “Timothy! Open the door!”

When he still didn’t get an answer, Dick growled and decided threats were in order. “Tim, if you don’t open this door, I am calling Oracle and getting her to tell me where you hid all of your old photos of me.”

There was silence behind the door, again. Then, just barely, he could hear the sound of movement followed by the drag of the lock. The door slowly pulled open and a tired, annoyed looking Tim answered.

“Did you need something, Dick?” He grumbled, clutching an over sized sweater around his midsection.

“Yea,” Dick answered, crossing his arms over his chest. “I need to see you.”

Tim’s skeptical look made him shove the door open and step inside. He closed the door behind him and looked around. The room was an utter disaster. Every photo was taken off the walls. All the mirrors were turned around. It looked like Tim had gone through serious efforts to find baggy clothing. And what dishes he hadn’t passed back to Alfred lay strewn about the room.

“Tim…” Dick sighed, looking at the slim male beside him. Hesitantly, he reached out, clutching his shoulder. “Tim…”

“Don’t touch me,” Tim snapped, stepping backwards, sending a harsh glare Dick’s way.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick wants to fix things.

Dick pulled back but didn’t leave. His hand dropped to his side as he watched Tim pull away toward the bed, just about the only clean thing in the entire room.

“Tim, you’ve got to get out of here,” he said, following Tim’s path.

Tim shook his head. “I don’t want to. I’m quite content here.” He sat down on the bed, curling his legs to his chest, effectively covering his stomach.

“But… Tim, this isn’t healthy. Seriously, you’ve got to get out and get some fresh air,” he urged, stopping in front of the other male.

“I don’t want to,” he returned, staring at his knees.

Dick glanced at the door, wishing Alfred was here to help. Or even Bruce, at least he would knock some sense into Tim’s head. “You have to. What’re you afraid of?”

Tim’s eyes flashed and he looked up. “Nothing,” he hissed. “I just don’t want to leave.”

Dick jumped on the statement. “You are afraid. What? Do you think people will judge you?” He asked, leaning over Tim. “It’s just a scar. Nothing to fear.”

A shiver rolled through Tim’s body and he tilted away from Dick. He bit his lower lip and his throat swallowed around some sort of emotion. “I… I don’t fear a scar.”

“You do,” Dick retorted. He hated that he had to play on Tim’s emotions to get a reaction, but, honestly, he couldn’t think of anything else. Obviously, his normal go to plan of warm touches weren’t going to work. “You hate it and you don’t want the world to judge you for it.”

“Of course I hate it!” Tim snapped, his furious glare honing in on Dick’s face. “I don’t want it! It makes me look like…” He halted, his voice catching. “Like… Something from a horror movie.” His head tilted back to his knees, shoulder shaking.

Dick dropped to his knees in front of Tim. He rested one hand on Tim’s foot, the other lifting to trace his cheek. “No… No, it doesn’t, Tim,” he soothed, offering a warm smile when Tim glanced at him. “It shows the world that you are brave and loyal. That you’re strong.”

Tim’s eyes watered slightly. “But… It’s horrid looking.”

“Let me see.”

Tim blinked. “What?”

“I said, let me see,” Dick repeated, his hand tightening on Tim’s jaw.

There was a pause where Dick’s eyes met Tim’s and some rather serious messages were silently passed between them. Finally, Tim’s legs shifted and dropped to the floor. Shaking fingers lifted the edge of the sweater revealing the gnarled stretch of skin. It was still a sharp red that looked even brighter against the pale skin of well toned abs.

“It’s beautiful,” Dick whispered, moving his hand to trace the twisted skin and muscle.

Tim shivered, this time for a totally different reason. “N-no… It’s not.” His fingers tightened around the hem of the sweater, threatening to pull it down. Dick stopped him by leaning forward and pressing a kiss to the wound. “Dick!”

Dick chuckled, breath ghosting over Tim’s skin. “I told you, it’s beautiful.” Playful blue eyes flicked upward to meet shocked grey ones. “You’re beautiful.” He snuck another kiss against Tim.

“Dick… I don’t…”

Dick stood up, covering Tim again. He shoved Tim’s hands away and carefully pushed him against the bed. A moment later, he was kneeling over Tim, balanced on the edge of the bed and one hand on each side of Tim’s head.

“Stop worrying so much. I think you’re the sexiest thing in this entire universe,” he stated, smirking at the younger man. “No one else's opinion is important.”

The red that flared over Tim’s cheeks made Dick laugh softly again. “Not to mention the cutest thing,” he added before tilting his head and capturing Tim’s lips against his. Instantly, Tim’s hands curled around the fabric of his shirt, holding him in place.

“Dick, don’t say such annoyingly sweet things,” Tim complained when Dick pulled back. “You might make me feel better.”

This time, Dick laughed loudly and happily. “Oh, I’ll do my best to hold back,” he teased, nipping at Tim’s jaw. At Tim’s snort, he moved back to his mouth to give him yet another, earth shattering, heart stopping kiss.

Tim shivered, sighing into the kiss. He supposed he could learn to live with his newest wound, if it meant that he could get Dick’s attentions everyday. That would make everything feel so much better.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes just one person is enough.

A sharp moan cut into the kiss when Dick’s hands traced over the scar. The skin, still so sensitive and fresh to the world tingled and jumped at Dick’s teasing.

“Like that?” Dick murmured against Tim’s mouth.

Tim shuddered, arching against Dick’s hand.

“I’ll take that as a yes. But, don’t get excited yet, I’ve got more,” he cooed. He sat up slightly to shove Tim’s sweater up and off of the slim body. “Beautiful…” The tips of his fingers trailed over pale skin, gently pushing against marks, old and new.

Tim bit his lower lip, watching Dick’s fingers move. “Dick…” He sighed. Not once in his life time did he honestly believe that Dick would touch him like this. Only half remember dreams and never mentioned fantasies held images like this.

“Shush, Tim,” Dick whispered, leaning down to kiss Tim’s neck. He bit lightly at the skin, wanting to pull more brilliant reds out of the smooth skin. “I told you not to worry.” He kissed his way down Tim’s chest, following his fingers path over scars. At each raised section of flesh, he paused to tease and bother the scars. He didn’t leave them alone until there were pink once more and Tim was panting below him.

In what felt like an agonizing amount of time, Dick arrived at the brutal, snarled mess that was Tim’s stomach. He blew a gentle breath over it. At Tim’s quiet moan, he licked at the scar, kissing the edges and nipping at the most healed parts.

Tim’s hips bucked softly, one hand tangling in Dick’s hair.

Dick smiled against the raised flesh. He dragged short nails down Tim’s side, careful to avoid the newest wound. His hands caught on the hem of Tim’s pants. With a frown, he sat up again so he could pull them down.

“Dick, wait!” Tim’s eyes snapped open and he lurched to grab Dick’s wrist.

Dick arched an eyebrow. “What? Too embarrassed to show me?” He teased, winking at Tim. “I’m sure it’ll be just as perfect as the rest of you.” Disentangling from Tim’s grasp, he pulled the pants off all the way. He whistled. “Told you, perfect.”

Tim groaned, lifting his hands to his face. Dick only chuckled again, trailing one finger from the scar the base of Tim’s arousal. Without hesitation, he curled his hand around the shaft and started to stroke in the same, slow teasing manner he had offered the rest of Tim’s body.

“Come on, let me see your face,” he said, leaning down to nudge Tim’s hands with his nose, while his hand pulled at the heated flesh.

Slowly, Tim pulled his hands away. As soon as they were gone, Dick’s mouth latched over his. The hand quickened it’s pace and all of Tim’s sounds were lost inside the kiss. Hips started to buck into the rhythm, stuttering and quivering at the sensations.

Dick didn’t stop kissing or stroking until Tim hit his shoulder. He jerked back. “What?”

Tim panted, glowering softly. “If you don’t stop I’ll be done for…” He managed to get out between moans and gasps.

Dick’s eyes widened and a sly sort of expression smoothed over his features. “I see.” He lifted his hand off of Tim’s member. “Do you have–?”

“Top drawer, behind you,” Tim stated, as if embarrassed to even say the word ‘lube’.

Arching back, Dick stuck a hand into the drawer and located the bottle. Settling back on Tim’s thighs, he flicked open the cap. Without a word, he turned it over and let the cool liquid drip between Tim’s legs.

A sharp gasp ripped out of Tim’s throat. “I-it’s cold!” He complained.

“Just how often do you use this stuff?” Dick asked, smirking. “It’s always cold.”

Tim glared at him. “Don’t get cocky.”

“Oh, little Timmy, I came into the room cocky,” Dick sing-songed right back. His hand dipped behind Tim’s straining manhood, teasing with the chilled liquid against quivering muscles. He pecked a quick kiss to Tim’s lips before slowly pressing two fingers inside.

Another harsh breath left Tim. He winced softly, clearly it had been awhile since he had done anything like this. Dick slowed slightly, not wanting to hurt the smaller male. He worked to relax and stretch the muscles. Eventually, he got a quiet moan from Tim.

“Can I do more?” Dick asked, tracing the scar again, with his free hand.

Tim nodded and sighed softly when Dick pulled his hand away. Although, he didn’t have to wait long before three fingers were entered this time. His eyes widened and he groaned.

“Much better,” Dick cooed, his fingers crooking and finding that spot that made Tim’s hips arch off of the bed.

Just a few more moments were left to prepare Tim. Dick was getting impatient and this wonderful image of a writhing, gasping, moaning Tim was making it too much. When Tim’s stomach started to quiver and his thighs tremble with pleasure, Dick pulled his hand back out. He grabbed his pants and shoved them down to his knees. They didn’t have time for him to get them all the way off.

Tim’s eyes widened slightly at Dick. Whatever he expected to be hiding below those deceptively tight jeans, this wasn’t it.

“Like?” Dick asked, laughing when Tim nodded. He grabbed the bottle off of the bed and poured a health amount over his straining member. “Good.” He tilted over Tim again. “Ready?”

At Tim’s second nod, Dick carefully pressed to the prepared entrance. He shot one last glance before thrusting inside.

“God,” Dick groaned, his hand curling around the sheets. “You’re tight.”

Tim had no way of answering. Harsh, heavy groans were rolling out of his throat and he didn’t look like he had enough brain power to respond.

Giving a second to adjust, Dick slowly rocked his hips forward. Instantly, he was granted a pleased cry from Tim. There was no stopping now. Dick just had to move and he thrust into the tight, silken heat. Each movement caused Tim to arch and moan to the ceiling above. It didn’t take long at all for their movements to match each other.

“Tim…” Dick moaned, his hips pumping forward. He leaned down to bite at Tim’s neck, sucking at the skin.

“Aah! Fuck, Dick!” Tim cried, his hands coming up to squeeze at Dick’s shoulders.

Dick pushed Tim against the bed, every thrust moving the furniture and shoving Tim further into the mattress. He growled softly when he felt Tim’s nails bite into his skin. Almost in retaliation, he sunk his teeth into the soft flesh of Tim’s shoulder. His hand traced over the scar, no longer gentle but dragging and harsh against the burning wound.

“D-dick!” Tim shouted, his body shuddering and arching against him.

Taking the unspoken plea, Dick moved his hand from scar to forgotten arousal. His hand curled back around the straining member. It didn’t take long at all for his strokes to match his thrusts. And it took even less time for Tim to scream with every thrust.

“Tim,” Dick groaned into Tim’s shoulder, voice liquid chocolate in his ear

And that was Tim’s undoing. With a harsh cry, he arched against Dick’s chest, entire body stuttering to a stop. He splashed against Dick’s hand and both their stomachs. The tight muscles clenched around Dick, making it impossible to move. It was so tight and so heavenly, Dick’s pleasure exploded and he released his deep felt moan into Tim’s neck.

For a long, almost timeless moment, Tim and Dick remained perfectly still. Then, Tim started to squirm. Apparently, he didn’t like that Dick was still inside and everything was so sticky.

“Dick…” He whined, squirming under the older male.

Dick opened his eyes, blinking himself back into his surroundings. He sighed softly, before shifting up, out and off of Tim. He dropped onto the bed, starring at the ceiling, willing his heart rate to return to normal.

“Hey Tim,” he called quietly.

Tim hummed.

“Come here.”

Tim shifted slightly, groaning at the bone deep satisfaction filling his system. He curled against Dick’s side, resting his cheek against Dick’s chest.

“Do you think you’re beautiful yet?” Dick asked, wrapping his arm around Tim’s shoulder and pulling him even closer.

There was a moment of silence then Tim answered, “No, but you do and that’s all that matters.”


End file.
